ramblings on the life of art and the art of living…

in the silence, words find their way out

The house is silent. Our upstairs neighbours must have left the building. My son is still asleep. The shushing from the light rainfall and car tires making their way through the wet are my backdrop. I just lit a stick of incense, too. Establishing sacred space in which to create, I guess. Waiting to hear what direction to go in, and which project to pursue. Silence. Ease.